I'm A Man
by Of Wolves And Dogs
Summary: Sometimes every fearless leader needs a lesson here and there. One Two x Handsome Bob


**a/n:** _Sometimes every fearless leader needs a lesson here and there. _

**rating: 'M' **for Mature

**pairing: **One Two x Handsome Bob

**RocknRolla  
****I'm A Man  
****written by: **of wolves and dogs

"_Every man I fall for  
__Drinks his coffee black  
__Love and hate are tattooed on his knuckles, and  
__My name is on his back...  
_

_And I fall  
__I live with one concern  
__It's the love  
__Diminish and return  
_

_Every man I fall for  
__Keeps his anger on a string and holds it tight  
__When other men walk by blinking their eyes at me  
__He always picks a fight__ ."_

_Every Man I Fall For_ by Cold War Kids

* * *

One Two was pissed beyond belief as he sat with the others at the Speeler, eyeing the clock on the wall as everyone about him was at ease. Dolly was busy cleaning a glass and chatting with Fred the Head, occasionally shooting One Two a look that told him to calm down. Already the man's uneasiness and frustration was bleeding through the warm and lively atmosphere of Mumbles and his little nefarious den. The air smelled heavily of clove cigarettes, beer, sweat and blood to the point where One Two swore that if his lungs ever took in pure oxygen, he would die from it being so foreign to his system. It didn't help that his own irritation was mixing with the air and slowly suffocating everyone.

"One Two...calm down, mate. He's on his way. The boy's just having a little fun," Mumble mused from his seat on the table, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he eyed his partner-in-crime. One Two, possibly one of the most ballsy and cocky son-of-a-bitch he has ever met, was not living up to his name at the moment. He was all out of sorts and Mumble couldn't help but draw one singular line between One Two's revelation about Handsome Bob and what was going on now.

You would think that you would't be to strung up when your mate, who fancies the boys, was off to do so elsewhere. Handsome Bob could have done whatever here in the Speeler right before the eyes. Mumble and the others wouldn't have cared (would have teased him, of course), but One Two would. So like the classy lad Bob is, he took it elsewhere. Now here was One Two acting like some brat who pissed his pants and was waiting for his mum to clean it up before he brought hell and furry together.

"He's late," One Two huffed out darkly, casting out a menacing stare at the smirking male who shrugged his shoulders in nonchalance. "I hate it when people are late."

"I getcha, mate. But aren't ya late all the time?" Cookie chimed in with his three-piece suit, speaking of an appointment later on that the man had to get to.

"Shut up. This is different," One Two scowled as he got to his feet, pacing about like a caged animal before making his way to the table. Placing his hands deliberately on the table, chips and cards shuddering at it, he gave them each a stern look, "This is important! Money is involved."

"Last time, One Two, when we were supposed to go rob that bloke on Market? You were an hour late! That had money involved," Mumble began.

"Than there was that one time we were supposed to meet the head of that Irish mob. You were late, and that had money involved," Cookie added as he flipped a card over, Mumble frowned as he looked back at his own cards. Before Fred the Head could chime in or Terry, the man the Irish male was waiting for bounded through the Speeler looking rather disheveled.

That impeccably sun-streaked hair of chestnut stood at odds at the back of the youth's skull, only making that expectant look on his face far more innocent than it should. Fingers tugged at the onyx t-shirt hugging his frame that hinted of nervous tension as he felt cold, blue eyes pierce through his skull. "Sorry I'm late... I was a tad preoccupied," he explained to his fearless leader who crossed his arms across his chest, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Oi, with who?" Terry asked, his old head moving up from his Sunday newspaper (that was now a week old) as his cigarette was heavy with smoke.

"Terry, now, I don't kiss and tell," the youth grinned, finding himself rounded up by the other guys with teasing curiosity and good humor, Dolly trying to fix the boy's hair with spit like a doting mother. "Why so curious, Terry. You like them fresh and alive?" Handsome Bob sniggered, Mumble bursting into that deep laughter as Terry scowled and waved his smoking hand about like a flag.

"Tosser. Never can have nice conversations with young hooligans," the elderly male muttered, turning back to his newspaper with profound purpose. Bob called out to the male with pleading humor to let the man forgive him, that crooked smile still on his face.

"Terry. Ah, come on. I kid with you -"

"Hey! What the hell is this? Fuckin' tea time? We got a job to do and if everyone failed to notice, our driver was late," One Two hissed out venomously, more out of insult that the attention was so suddenly turned onto Bob and the fact no one was thinking of the heist that was supposed to happen _today_! Mumble casted a baleful look at his friend before everyone dispersed back to their usual spots, Fred patting Bob's back before walking off.

"Thank you," the dark-haired male sighed heavily, rubbing out a tic forming somewhere on his forehead. In his opinion, Bob was spoiled by everyone, or he just noticed it now along with everything that seemed to make up Bob. Dolly was always tending the younger male, as if she was actually his mum and the man was actually the age of a middle schooler. Or how Fred kept a close eye on the boy whenever he gets caught in trouble, making sure to make whatever legal documents mysteriously vanish. It was the only reason why Bob didn't end up in jail. From the very beginning Fred the Head assured the boy that he wouldn't serve time, and One Two should have remembered that instead of willingly letting Bob coax him into a slow dance. Than there was fucking Mumble who had this strange authoritarian rule over the lad, pushing him around to do what he wanted when it came to work.

'Go talk to so-and-so and get that document.' 'Chat this girl up, make sure she gives you the pin number.'

Plus it didn't help that Mumble would often go and save Bob first before going to him when shit hits the fan. What the fuck was up with that? _We're fuckin' best mates and he'll go save Bob's ass because he looks like a fuckin' angel. _

Everyone loved Handsome Bob and once upon a time he would have beamed and agreed. Now, it just made him pissed and unable to keep still. Like why the hell was he still going to that Bertie prick? They got what they wanted months ago! The Lenny dilemma was over with, what was the point of keeping contact with that lawyer! Ugh, it just made him fume from where he stood, unable to keep himself still as he stared hotly at the younger male.

Handsome Bob cringed at the look, assuming a submissive role that made him look like a kicked puppy. One Two groaned in distress at the look, beginning to feel guilt weasel itself into his gut. That little bastard - he was doing it all on purpose! Just like fuckin' before in the car with that dejected and mournful look of his. It was a fucking ploy! A conspiracy! A fucking trap! That little puppy act was going to be the death of him! One day he was going to wake up, beaten up, lying in a ditch being buttfucked by a junkie all because of Handsome fucking Bob.

"Can we now please stop dicking around and do our jobs?" One Two finished savagely, white teeth clicking against each other as he stormed out toward the back room, motioning for Handsome Bob to follow him. The male winced and followed after him, shooting a worried look at Mumble who gave him a small nod in reassurance. If Mumble wasn't worried than neither was he, his stride carrying his usual bounce.

Entering the compact room, swiping at his nose, he leaned against one of the metal shelves as the Irish criminal closed the door. Eyebrows were raised expectantly in waiting at the Irish who paced in the tight space, crossing his arms across his chest for the reaming he was about to receive for being late.

"I want you to stop seeing this Bertie fellow," One Two finally blurted out darkly, surprise dancing brightly on Handsome Bob's face at this order.

"Why?" Bob inquired with a rather hurt expression on his face. He quite liked Bertie. He spoiled him with compliments, blabbered like an idiot when Bob got too close, and was so easy to push about. It was the only real thrill he got out of Bertie: a sense of being the leader over a powerful man. So whenever he pinned the man down against the mattress, he imagined that it was One Two who fought weakly against him. He would never let Bertie one up him and dominate him. Handsome Bob felt the right for someone to do that laid in one man and one man only...

"Because I said so; I don't need a reason!"

Irrationality filled the man's words and it made Handsome Bob frown gently, scratching at a spot underneath his chin in confusion. He thought the reason would be because he was running late, but it seemed that right now that was far from One Two's mind. The younger male could feel his mind being pricked at by a simple question, and seeing they were in the sanctity of the back room (for One Two's sake - he could hardly care), he asked him the golden question, "...are you jealous, One Two?"

"_No!_" the Irish male puffed up his chest in insult, snarling and snapping his teeth as his face turned quite a lovely shade of red. The pure-blood Brit felt the end of his lips curve into the beginnings of a knowing smirk, thrills of confidence sashaying through his skull like sultry wisps of smoke from a cigarette. "I'm not gay!" he added defiantly, but the handsome Brit was far from taking anything One Two said seriously at the moment, humoring him with a small nod.

"Ah," he began, licking his lips tentatively and watching in silent pleasure as those blue eyes followed his tongue before flicking back to make eye contact defensively. "So this is how it's going to be..." Handsome Bob trailed off with a warm air in his voice, having a growing sensation that he was going to have to take the initiative. It would be no different than how he would do so when it came to Bertie or his past girlfriends who were not so much reeking of arrogance and confidence when it came to intimate moments.

And lo and behold, One Two looked awfully flushed and unsure of himself - a look quite new to Bob and one he was storing in his memory.

Picking at the ends of his shirt, he didn't hesitate to pull it off of him, the cool air nipping at his exposed skin like fish to algae. "Hey! Put your shirt back on," One Two ordered with outrage, backing himself into the shelves as the contents rattled gently over the sound of the A/C.

Pale eyes just merely glanced at him as he tossed the shirt aside, a tad pleased that One Two remained put with a deer-in-the-headlight expression. Hard to get. He had past lovers who tried to play that card on him, but no one could outwit someone with a golden tongue, like him. Bob was more than tempted to crank up his charm - the very thing that made him the man women fell on their knees for and, got him the reputation of being a heartthrob and a dangerous playboy. Women were different, though. Women were his cover he was fine with fucking, never repulsed but merely seeing them as an outlet and good practice. What he wanted was entirely different and he wasn't quite sure if it would be fair to overpower One Two with that Handsome Bob charm. He rather have the man choose him because it was him, not because he knows how to stroke the man's ego and give him something entirely carnal and rude.

"You see, One Two, if you really were repulsed... You would have already been gone from the room," Bob sighed gently, moving closer until they were inches aside, hand moving to grip the shelf right beside One Two's face. "Actually, you wouldn't have even called me in here. You want this to happen," he cooed out coyly, harmless teasing and nothing more. Well it seemed it was enough to make the older male stutter and babble incoherently.

"No! I just...I... We have a job to do!"

"Right after you, than," Bob didn't miss a beat as he raised his arm in a gesture for the man to feel free and leave the room.

One Two remained put, looking away lamely and nothing more. Handsome Bob could feel himself become ecstatic at these turn of events. Somehow, through all the horror that seemed to escalate from that night in the car with their friendship, something good was finally coming through. Here was One Two underhandedly admitting he was jealous of his constant leavings to Bertie's and here was the man remaining with him in a room by themselves.

It had to be a God givin' miracle! He needed to show his appreciation for this miracle by not wasting any precious time.

Fingers scaled One Two's clothed chest as if it was a mountain to be conquered, feeling every ridge and dip underneath the thin piece of fabric. Muscles played underneath his fingertips with uncomfortable tension that made the younger male sigh gently through his nose, pale eyes flicking upward to stare at the Irish who stared back with something close to panic. A punch of hurt took hold of his gut as he saw this, a sad smile fluttering on his lips as he saw this. That good mood of his diminishing to something rather lukewarm.

"You know..." he breathed out shakily, his eyes turning down to the man's chest, his hand remaining splayed on his abdomen, "If it bothers you that much...just close your eyes. Pretend it's someone else..."

One Two gave a shaky nod and closed his eyes, tipping his head back so his neck was out on display for the Brit. Gnawing on his lower lip as Bob stared at the older male, he gave himself a nod as he went back to glorifying the man's chest. It ached deep in his throat at the realization that One Two would never be able to open his eyes and take him as he is (he supposed that this was a start). Bertie was nice, but he was more or less someone who sympathized with him and someone he could control with sheer personality alone. The lawyer was nothing in comparison to the criminal before him...

Not even close.

Tugging on the man's shirt, One Two got the drift and lifted his arms upward so the shirt could be removed. Bob has seen the man naked before, hell they even took showers numerous of times before, always making sure to keep his mind as blank as possible...but he could never diminish the powerful sight of the man's bare chest. The man's chest was the definition of wrathfulness and power, scars littered about as soft, thick curls of black hair drew a path down to the man's nether regions that were conveniently covered by his jeans. It was one thing to see and it was another thing to touch...

Now when his fingers skimmed the man's chest were muscles relaxed and at ease, a calloused thumb running across a pert nipple. Bowing his head, his mouth captured the pink flesh, teeth nipping at sensitive softness as a hiss filled the air. As a form of apology, a hot tongue flicked against the abused nipple, a soft moan leaving his older teammate almost instantaneously in acceptance. The sound reverberated deep in Bob's being, feeling himself suddenly become short of breath as let the sound percolate into his skull. It was fucking music to his ear. It was a goddamn symphony to his nerves, making every hair on his body stand up in standing ovation for more.

Encore. Encore. Encore.

Performing the same to the already perky nipple to the left, he basked in the gorgeous vibrations of deep vocal chords being plucked. Handsome Bob knew he loved the man for a reason. The man was perfect in every conceivable way. How he looked, how he spoke, how he moved, how he breathed... It was the only reason why he wanted to be accepted into The Wild Bunch: he wanted to be a part of One Two's life, wanted to at least claim he held some sort of role in the man's life. Wanted to be something the man could be proud of, and ever since he confessed his need for One Two, he felt as if he was kicked back to square one: the rookie stage.

He hated the rookie stage where he had to fight and claw to get One Two's approval of him. It wasn't so bad when he was first starting off as a lad in his early twenties, but now it would be quite difficult. One Two was wary of him as a man is wary of a deadly cobra, not quite sure if he should give it the time of day or leave the scene.

But than what kind of rookie stage was _this_ than? Handsome Bob wasn't sure he wanted to truly dwell on it, afraid that something rather negative will come to be his answer. All he did know, for certain, is that this was an opportunity just like last time was. Once again, he would be damned if he didn't milk this opportunity for all it was worth.

Hooking his finger in the man's pants, he watched quietly at the panting male who responded so well to his lips against his chest. Who was he thinking of as this took place? His long, lost Stella? Another woman in One Two's life? Him? The thought made his heart flutter weakly at the thought that somewhere in One Two's wild skull that he was recognizing that it was him doing this, not some woman.

Dipping his hand to cup the growing bulge in the man's trousers, thumb rubbing against the zipper, he watched with anticipation as hips jerked into his hand. The man gave a throaty moan at the touch, mouth hanging slightly open as if his nose was suddenly incapable of inhaling and exhaling.

"I - ...I'm a man," One Two hissed out, rubbing himself roughly against Bob's hand as if that statement would justify everything going on right now.

It's hard to get underneath Handsome Bob's skin, the man far too patient for insults and such, but this right here ticked the younger male off. Those pale, storm-hued eyes became overshadowed as he breathed heavily through his nostrils. What was One Two trying to get at? That _he_ was less of a man because of this? Fine. He would show One Two just exactly who he was dealing with right here. He would give his fearless leader the Handsome Bob that has gone through women like cocktails with a taunting wink and a devilish grin.

Moving back a step, hearing the sound of protest leave from chapped lips, the hand on the male's crotch made a move to the waistband of his trousers. Tugging him away from the metal shelves, smooth instinct glided through his veins and nerves as he slid his foot behind his. In one, practiced motion he tripped One Two onto his back, a cheeky grin on his lips as the male hissed and scowled in pain. That was payback for the stupid comment.

"What the hell was that for!"

Handsome Bob didn't answer as he sat on the man's upper thighs, running his lower half against the Irish and earning soft noises in pleasure. Too fucking easy. Which was a terrible thought all in itself, but he couldn't help it. He was running on a wounded ego and a bandaged heart, Bob wasn't quite sure how to balance this all out. One side wanted to throttle the bastard, the other side wanted to prove that he was better than any Stella, Alice, Oliva, and whatever other female names were out there. It was absolutely unfair that his good friend had to react sourly to it all and if he could have just kept his fat trap shut he would've. But now he has to sleep in the bed he made, and suddenly here was the homophobic One Two under him writhing for more, while his own smart mouth slung insults at the entire event.

Fucking Irish needed to make up his goddamn mind. Was he interested? Was he just looking for a quickie and he was the closest thing around? What the hell was One Two trying to accomplish?

Unzipping One Two's trousers, carefully wiggling them off of the man, he stared in pride at the hardened flesh standing to attention. Handsome Bob supposed that this evened out his disappointment in One Two's continuos disdain toward him when it came to his sexuality. This organ here was far from expressing any form of displeasure at the moment and he couldn't help but cast a sly grin. Running his finger against the side, eyes watched with predatory fascination the savage Irish twitch and mewl in frustration. The sounds the man made were absolutely beautiful and it continued to make his own body twitch and jerk in anticipation, irked that he still had his trousers on.

He figured he could wait just a bit longer, his mouth aching to taste the man in a heated kiss but was more than all right with pressing it against his length.

Salty sweat and the hint of cinnamon were the two things he could accurately pinpoint when tongue met heated flesh. It made the pureblood Brit smirk as he nipped at an engorged vein, truly in love with the profound veins that burst into overtime to get blood down. Running his tongue underneath from the base to the tip, glops of arrogance fell onto his skull when he placed his mouth over the weeping tip. Flicking his tongue against the tip, lapping up the precum, he found his hands having to shove One Two onto the ground when hips surprisingly bucked into his mouth. Sucking on the organ, tongue dancing a mad dance on skin, One Two was beginning to turn into mere putty as he moaned and begged for more.

But this wasn't what Bob had in mind when it came to putting One Two in his place.

Drawing back slowly, he began to unzip his trousers as he toed off his shoes and socks. Ignoring the complaints from the older male, he undressed himself with confident ease as he was soon gazing at his own erect member. Running a finger against it, he rummaged through his pant's pocket for a small bottle, slicking himself with its contents before shifting closer to One Two. He was still in the throughs of complaining and begging, and the British vagrant couldn't help but smile at this. This was too much like a dream come true.

Massaging the male's testicles and putting his complaining to a stop, he slowly made his move backwards with curious fingers, watching for any sign of pure discomfort. It was only when a finger prodded at a sacred place did One Two react fully. Bright, blue eyes flared to attention as a snarl was issued out vehemently from lips in dire need of attention (in Bob's opinion). "Hell no," he spat darkly, "I'm not some fuckin' homo - _ah_."

Really, Bob could have let One Two finish his entire spiel on how he was not homosexual and all man, but he grew tired of it. His words had a habit of hurting him, and right now he didn't need to hear about how disgusting he was or how he was wrong. So with lips pursed, he silenced the man by pushing the finger through and curling it inside.

The man was a puddle before his very eyes.

He stuck another finger in and stretched the man out, his own length twitching in wild anticipation as he could feel his hips on its own sway into minuscule versions of a thrust (as if this was the practice session). Done with his fingers, he sat on his haunches as he grabbed the man's legs, pulling him closer until he had a clear track. Without warning of the sort, he plunged in full hilt without a hint of remorse when the Irish winced and hissed into the dim room. One Two wanted to question his masculinity? Than fine, he'll give him his masculinity.

Every last inch of his goddamn masculinity to prove one thing and one thing only.

Thrusting at a good pace, he could feel himself almost drool when heated walls tightened around him with strange accommodation. They were made for each other, Handsome Bob couldn't have been more certain of it. Adjusting his angle, he thrusted upward and the moan that came out from One Two could have overpowered any car with their speakers on blast. Bending forward until his lips found the sweaty crook of the man's neck, he watched those bright blue eyes stare at him precariously. Placing soft kisses into the crook with those supple lips, with the air of the submissive lover he could be, he finally spoke.

"I'm a man, too."

It was ten minutes later did One Two leave the back room, wiping his forehead as he began to recompose himself. About to open his mouth for everyone to get their ass in gear, Cookie beat him to the catch.

"Oi, didn't ya just say no 'dicking around,' mate?" Cookie sniggered, pure loathing instantly being stamped onto One Two's face, hands curled into fists as he made his way toward the skinny male.

"Yeah, and now we're really late!" Mumble called out in slight warning that there was to be no fights, the Irish snarling out a dark curse before backing away. His body ached from head-to-toe, feeling a slight hitch in his step and it took everything out of him to try and mask it. It was fruitless though, Mumble saw it with those observant eyes of his, a sly grin flying on his face.

"So who topped. Bob, did he?"

One Two nearly choked on his saliva at the statement coming from his right-hand man, eyes wide in temporary awe before narrowing in immediate defense, "Why do you all assume Bob topped - _wait_, no, nothing happened!" Did he give off the impression that he was bottom when it came to Bob and him? And why the heck were they assuming that something of the taboo sort occurred! Fuckin' bastards.

"Really, now? Heard quite a ruckas," Fred mused out, earning more sniggering from the band of criminals and hooligans in the Speeler.

"Shut the hell up and start heading to the car!" was all One Two managed to heave out, watching as money was still being exchanged from bets that were made on them.

A yawn escaped Bob as he made his way back to the main attraction at the Speeler, earning a low whistle that made him scratch the side of his head bashfully. Yet despite it all, that devilish smirk remained glued to his lips as he made his way to the table of poker cards, chips, and cash.

"Well Bobski?" Mumble inquired as everyone stared at Handsome Bob who placed his hands levelly on the table, a rather serious look falling on his face.

"Blushes like a girl, he does," Bob proclaimed proudly before wrapping his arm playfully around One Two, earning a rather harsh jab in the side.

"Keep it up, Bob, and I'll make you scream like a girl," One Two warned, but the laughter dancing in the man's eyes made Handsome Bob give his famous, crooked grin.

He was more than pleased to see normalcy return in their friendship, even if it did take one hell of a 'heart-to-heart' to fix it.

* * *

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